


Wings and Sweet Things

by awkwardeye



Series: Second POV [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:19:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardeye/pseuds/awkwardeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fantasy drabbles unconnected by plot about Kylo (probably hux later on and others idk yet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the poison boy [kylo ren]

**Author's Note:**

> i just think this fandom could do with a bit more childish fantasy

  
He seems to find the word “home” foreign, like the sweetness of the melting cream on his tongue that you have to coax him into swallowing. Acquiescing with a bitter frown of disdain, he watches you watch him. Beneath the fading light of midnight his skin is pale, unbelievably dry, and so cold your fingertips freeze without ever reaching him. Kylo doesn't ever touch your bare skin. Flowers wilt between his fingers and your skin would do the same.

“Yes, home, the place where you belong,” you say, standing to circle his tree.

“I belong here,” Kylo points out, gesturing blindly around the forest.

“This isn't a home.” You snort at the thought.

“But you just said-!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. But this isn't a home!” You laugh and glance around at a tiny world infested by the beautiful shades of green intrinsic to flora. “A home has walls and a roof and a bed. When you leave it, you dream of it sometimes. When you're away too long, your stomach hurts like you're sick and you cry just thinking about it. And it has someone you love.” Your voice catches on the last part and you stumble over a branch.

“Someone I love?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You're taken by the handsome man who is so ignorant to the workings of your world. He's interesting, so much more interesting than the stiff man who wear stiff trousers and jackets all year no matter the weather whom your mother wants you to marry. You shouldn't be in the forest with a strange man when you're engaged to be engaged, you think, but you just don't give a damn. Which is why you visit him on the days it doesn't rain with a treat from the shop.

He always asks you to add something dangerous to your treats, but you're afraid of hurting him. He says often that a taste of poison isn't always fatal, encourages you to nibble on peculiar stems and leaves that stain your lips and turn your stomach, but he says he can never kiss you for even the smallest taste of his poison is a murderous weapon.

“I don't love anyone,” he mutters. “But I like your visits. That's enough, don't you think?” He licks some of the excess cream from his fingers, obviously disgusted. “Ah, and I trusted you not to poison me with sweet things.”


	2. to love, to kill [hux]

Armitage is supposed to be guiding you to your untimely demise, but he finds himself doing exactly the opposite.

“What's being dead like?”

“I wouldn't know. I've never lived or died.”

“You're a shitty guardian angel,” you mutter, swinging half heartedly until you come to a near stop. You dig your heels into the ground and crush the hard candy between your teeth, cracking it loudly.

“Well, my job is to kill you.” He's always so serious. He reminds you of the stiff kids from school who would rather study than kiss young, gorgeous people or run screaming through the night for the sake of enjoyment.

“Then why are you always saving me?”

“Because you haven't tainted me.” Armitage has unsettling, cool eyes that forever shine with an unspeakable malice. “I've been beaten by my own empathy.” He's a cursed thing tasked with causing demise, but he can only claim the lives of those he loves (for his own desire to suffer) which is why you're determined to keep him from falling for you.


	3. she tastes like sand [rey]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm lowkey in love with rey tbh she's my bb

Her lips crumble beneath yours and when you pull your hands away from her bare body, they're coated in sand. She tells you not worry as she covers you in herself, tells you not to go because her clogged heart will burst if you leave her to her loneliness.

Every night she visits your dreams, marking dismal lands within your subconscious with her. Naked, inviting, with such soft, crumbling lips. There are grains of sand clinging to her dark eyelashes. Whenever you inhale beside her, the sand blocks your throat and dries your mouth, but you don't stop breathing.

“Are you real?” you ask, your voice rough. Every word stings.

“As real as the sand beneath your feet,” Rey replies, grinning.

Such beautiful lips, it's a shame they're covered in sand. She holds your hand as you go ambling aimlessly through the desert like lovers on a trail. Before you go, you promise to return to your lonely lover made entirely of sand. There are never remnants of her in your bed when you wake to snow on the sill.


	4. graveyard stranger [hux]

“You're a strange boy,” you whisper, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

It's late and you should be home in bed, but the wood had called to you, a man had called for you, his darling. You found him at the edge of the cemetery, emerging from the silhouettes of mausoleums and tombstones dipped in a low hanging fog. Tendrils of gray slipped around him like the drained digits of the dead.

And he is a peculiar thing with pale skin and red hair and eyes so light they are almost as transparent as ice. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but makes no move to comfort himself as he grips the gate’s bars like they're the bars of a cage and he's a prisoner. The uniform he wears is old and marked with rips and loose threads, singed in places. He's intimidating and seems about to do something terrible despite his polite demeanor.

“Why are you out alone so late?” he asks.

“What's your name?”

“Hux. Armitage Hux.” He licks his lips and holds his hand out to you.


	5. walk of angels [ben]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of gory, but calm all the same. It's just a lot of symbolism really I don't know if it makes sense

You pick the eyes from their stems and pop them into your mouths like they are round candies. The eyelashes catch and tangle themselves in your teeth. The skin tears easily as you grind your teeth together. Each eye pops with just the right amount of pressure from your tongues. You kiss each other sometimes, exchanging the sour taste of sight.

Ben’s mouth grows more bitter with each eye and he stops at every lake to dip his wings in the thick, burning fluids that singe his feathers and leave his skin pink, raw. The blood stains his wings, blackening them, and weighs them down until it dries. He can't fly today, not in the garden.

The human garden is made of the various parts of its wingless victims and the others flit between branches (elongated and twisted digits) and pluck leaves of skin to chew until only the sallow, tasteless ones remain. The eyes aren't favored by many, leaving them open to you and Kylo. In your eagerness, neither of you pluck the eyelashes or pull the skin away from the eyes before you place them between your teeth. Hair sprouts from the ground and tickles your toes.

Ben continues to stain his wings until they're as stiff as the ivory shells of bones that wash up on the shores. His wings are sticky beneath your touch, the feathers peeling apart from each other whenever he moves. His wings are new and haven't fully fused yet. Though the process is agonizing, he doesn't cry out; it's forbidden. He clenches his jaw whenever you pour tears over his exposed flesh, stinging the red, brutalized skin from which the wings burst.

There isn't any point in walking through the garden. There isn't any joy or solemnity, only the wariness of knowing the grim plague that awaits you at its edge: the horrid land of tulips and sweet things.


	6. peculiar fish [kylo ren]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write Kylo the fish boy

“Who are you?”

“I'm the storm beneath the sea.”

He sounds serious, you think, but can't be. No, he looks like any other boy (not that you've seen many your age lately). Wet strands of hair so dark it gleams like diamonds overcome by blackness and slick stick to his face and neck. You note, with a peculiar nonchalance, that his legs seem to have fused together to form a tail the color of the charcoal the artists sketch the old church with.

“What a strange fish,” you murmur, hiking up your skirt to roll down your socks. You don't look at him again until your feet are dangling off of the dock.

The sun beats down on your exposed neck and arms, warming your thighs. Occasional breezes cool your skin, but mostly carry the heat. You should be praying right now with your parents at church, but you can't be bothered to sit in a stuffy old building until the old pews leave you backside sore as the old preacher drones on and on about eternal damnation and the necessity of prayer with the war peaking. Alas, you're here on the dock with a fish who's also a man, a merman.

“I'm not a fish,” the man hisses.

“And the pigeon says it isn't a bird,” you muse.

“I'm Kylo Ren.”

“That isn't a real name.”

Kylo is handsome even with that insolent air about him. He pouts pink, glistening lips, and seems to consider you.

“You aren't real,” you say, content to reduce the merman to little more than a mirage not unusual for such a hot evening. Tomorrow, you'll return and he'll be gone.


	7. he's got black eyes [kylo ren]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not romantic :( (look at how sarcastic that sad face looks its just "ugh well I GUESS it's a shame")

You feel a coldness spread through your chest, curl unforgiving fingers around your heart, and you're panting.

He's back, the horrible man who seems unwilling to be rejected. His voice forever haunts your head, filling it for the most part with the phrase that makes your heart freeze even after hearing it so often.

“Let me in.” It wouldn't be so strange if his lips moved when he spoke instead of curling them into such a wicked smile.

“What do you want?” you demand, forcing a scowl.

“I have to go home,” he says, his expression shifting.

“What home?”

He growls, and places both hands on the doorway to fill it. He makes one word sound so sinister.

“You.”


	8. the maker [hux]

You love the maker, though you've only just learned of romance as he sewed a new hand on (they keep falling off).

He explained it with cheeks as red as his hair, clearing his throat and fumbling with the thread. After, he placed a stack of novels on your desk, murmuring that they could explain love and romance a bit more eloquently than him.

The maker is stiff, cold, and wears prim suits. His hair is immaculate, his eyes shrewd. But he's got the most amazing hands, hands that know grace, elegance, and how to fix you when you crumble.

“Do you love me, Maker?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Perhaps, but not in the way you'd like.”


	9. trash_lord00xx@gmail.com [hux]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write because it's a weekend, but I decided to do something different and obviously modern

The angel interested in the wonders of the worldwide web is unenthused by the email account you helped him set up. All day he's been emailing you to complain (which you knew he would do because he's a finicky thing with nothing better to do). Still, you're amused when his name pops up, trash_lord00xx (because you met him while taking out the trash), even if he's messing up your schedule.

Armitage carries himself with the utmost poise, always going on about how humans are little more than glorified savages who sometimes do interesting things, but not often. He has a habit of appearing when he shouldn't and apparently now he's glued to his email and, subsequently your personal laptop. Which isn't terribly bothersome, but his constant presence gives you more time to get to know him, get to like him.


	10. Here With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending things with a muffled sigh instead of a bang

He's a cursed boy, weighed down by an inability to speak to the one he loves. His tongue won't move, his throat is clogged, and his lips are useless, so he writes a poem to you everyday. But you don't understand his language.

Kylo (you know his name because he signs every poem) presses harsh kisses to your lips, unfazed by his predicament. He feels that even without communication he understands you and, even if he doesn't, at least he has you. Simply having you is always enough. He knows your thoughts the moment you have them and he learns you through thin glass while you learn him through a brick wall.

In the wordless mess of tangled limbs and swelling lips, convergence inspires deep infatuation and you know you'd love him even if every sense was stripped from your body. With his skin against yours, you're molded and matched like hearts made for and sewn to each other.


End file.
